She’s up there on the truck a-pawin’ for a shovel herself.
She’s jus’ tar’d out.
We got a long bitter road ahead.”
Uncle John said,
“But we could be makin’ some money.
We could have a little bit saved up, come time the other folks got there.”
The eyes of the whole family shifted back to Ma.
She was the power.
She had taken control.
“The money we’d make wouldn’t do no good,” she said. “All we got is the family unbroke.
Like a bunch a cows, when the lobos are ranging, stick all together.
I ain’t scared while we’re all here, all that’s alive, but I ain’t gonna see us bust up.
The Wilsons here is with us, an’ the preacher is with us.
I can’t say nothin’ if they want to go, but I’m a-goin’ cat-wild with this here piece a bar-arn if my own folks busts up.” Her tone was cold and final.
Tom said soothingly,
“Ma, we can’t all camp here.
Ain’t no water here.
Ain’t even much shade here.
Granma, she needs shade.”
“All right,” said Ma. “We’ll go along.
We’ll stop first place they’s water an’ shade.
An’—the truck’ll come back an’ take you in town to get your part, an’ it’ll bring you back.
You ain’t goin’ walkin’ along in the sun, an’ I ain’t havin’ you out all alone, so if you get picked up there ain’t nobody of your folks to he’p ya.”
Tom drew his lips over his teeth and then snapped them open.
He spread his hands helplessly and let them flop against his sides.
“Pa,” he said, “if you was to rush her one side an’ me the other an’ then the res’ pile on, an’ Granma jump down on top, maybe we can get Ma ’thout more’n two-three of us gets killed with that there jack handle.
But if you ain’t willin’ to get your head smashed, I guess Ma’s went an’filled her flush.
Jesus Christ, one person with their mind made up can shove a lot of folks aroun’!
You win, Ma.
Put away that jack handle ’fore you hurt somebody.”
Ma looked in astonishment at the bar of iron.
Her hand trembled.
She dropped her weapon on the ground, and Tom, with elaborate care, picked it up and put it back in the car.
He said,
“Pa, you jus’ got set back on your heels.
Al, you drive the folks on an’ get ’em camped, an’ then you bring the truck back here.
Me an’ the preacher’ll get the pan off.
Then, if we can make it, we’ll run in Santa Rosa an’ try an’ get a con-rod.
Maybe we can, seein’ it’s Sat’dy night.
Get jumpin’ now so we can go.
Lemme have the monkey wrench an’ pliers outa the truck.” He reached under the car and felt the greasy pan.
“Oh, yeah, lemme have a can, that ol’ bucket, to catch the oil.
Got to save that.”
Al handed over the bucket and Tom set it under the car and loosened the oil cap with a pair of pliers.
The black oil flowed down his arm while he unscrewed the cap with his fingers, and then the black stream ran silently into the bucket.
Al had loaded the family on the truck by the time the bucket was half full.
Tom, his face already smudged with oil, looked out between the wheels.
“Get back fast!” he called. And he was loosening the pan bolts as the truck moved gently across the shallow ditch and crawled away. Tom turned each bolt a single turn, loosening them evenly to spare the gasket.
The preacher knelt beside the wheels.
“What can I do?”